The Quest for the Birthday Present
by fantasychica37
Summary: On the Blessed Isle, Gandalf decides that he's sick of being the only one giving Bilbo and Frodo presents on their birthday as opposed to his- so he, a Maia created before time, decides to figure out when his birthday is! Featuring all fourteen Valar, devotees of shiny things, and contention over the ownership of Shadowfax. K for Fëanor in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"Many happy returns, Frodo and Bilbo!" Gandalf cheered with the other Elves, who surprisingly seemed to be quite enjoying what was for many of them their first cup of ale in their long lives. It was the Hobbits' first birthday in Valinor, and they had thrown an enormous party hobbit-style, complete with multiple meals, Gandalf's fireworks, and giving out presents to all their guests, insisting that they give the hobbits gifts on their own birthdays.

The only notable exception to this was Gandalf, who, being an Ainu made before the world was created, had no birthday. So there he was, awkwardly navigating the row of tables (and being a Maia, he towered over even the tallest Elves when they were standing up), the only one giving the guests of honor birthday presents. It had never bothered him much before- he had only ever given them birthday gifts once, during Bilbo's 111th birthday party, as he had spent every other birthday of theirs traipsing around Middle-earth saving some realm or other, but now when he was living a stationary, peaceful life again (that is, as much as any Maia of Manwë's life could be) and would be celebrating Bilbo's and Frodo's birthday with them for the rest of their lives, he felt guilty at violating such an important hobbit custom, especially when he was the only one in Aman who really knew and cared about hobbit customs.

Gandalf realized that this was the first time in an Age that he had complained about a problem (even if only silently) without trying to do anything about it. _Why not,_ he thought. _Vairë still has all her old tapestries on hand..._

And so he spent the rest of the gift-giving scribbling complicated arithmetic problems on his napkin, trying to figure out how many years had passed since the Valar began recording time. (He had to do the calculations for the First Age on a big spot of jam made from the strawberries the Bagginses grew in their garden, which Gandalf thought was deeply ironic.)

When the party was over, Gandalf galloped away on Shadowfax and began another Quest- to find out when he came into being!

**Coming up next: Gandalf visits the Halls of Mandos to examine tapestries and do some calculations- and finds many, many people there...**


	2. Chapter 2

**I had to post this up today by Unbreakable Oath- 11:59 exactly!Will revise later.**

Olórin arrived at the great stables of Oromë within the day. He dropped off Shadowfax, whom he had taken to the party only because it looked awesome and he secretly loved the expressions of awe on everyone's faces. It made him feel important, especially when he'd just come from brewing a cup of coffee for Manwë.

_Since when do I not get to come on your epic quests?_ complained the majestic horse. _I__ should've stayed at home in Rohan..._

_Not you, too! _Olórin groaned. _Gandalf, I left my pocket-handkerchief at home! Gandalf, I want to see the shiny thing! What makes you think you would find welcome here, Gandalf Stormcrow? Mithrandir, take any horse but be gone! Olórin, stop blocking the light I'm trying to capture in what will be the greatest elven masterwork of all time! Olórin, go get some coffee beans from Yavanna and make me a cup of coffee! Can I ever have a moment of peace?_

Shadowfax whinnied angrily and stomped his feet, but before he could reply, Olórin had left and appeared in Mandos to examine the tapestries there._  
_

In the middle of a heated debate between big groups of Noldor and Teleri, Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Dior at the forefront.

What's more, Olórin could make out the words "Silmaril", "best", and "Kinslaying".

He suddenly felt very envious of Shadowfax.

Then he made out more clearly the words:

"I wore it best!"

"My great-grandson wears it on his forehead- bringing Hope to Men! You just wore it in a necklace!"

"The Silmarils are not meant to be paraded! They must be treasured and kept safe!"

Fëanor smiled creepily. "Oh yes, kept safe, my own, my love, my p..."

"Remember what Lord Mandos said, brother!" interrupted Fingolfin. "You can beat this!"

The Spirit of Fire wheeled on his brother. "You're no better than I at the moment!"

"I don't care one hobbit finger about the Silmarils- I'm just defending the honor of my House from this Sindarin upstart who takes the most significant object of the First Age and makes it into a necklace!"

Olórin looked around helplessly. "What's going on?" he asked a nearby Maia._  
_

"Saruman got bored," answered the Maia, a former servant of Aulë by the name of Silivren who had gotten fed up with the associated stigma after Saruman's desertion, wearily. "Apparently he had some knowledge on sowing discord among Elves and Men secondhand from your boss's little brother."

Olórin sighed. Aulë's Maiar had a deep sense of insecurity, which they liked to take out on the Maiar of Valar with clean track records.

"They've been at it ever since Saruman got here," Silivren continued. "It's disturbing the rest of every other Elda in the Halls! Lord Mandos has been spending most of his time here when not hiding out in Lady Vairë's weaving room- he just left to get his hundredth cup of coffee today and they just got much worse!"

_Oh for the sake of Sauron's missing contact lens, must I do everything!_ Olórin sighed and drew his sword. "Look, everyone!" he called.

Hundreds of fëar instantly focused on the blade and uttered one low, primal word: "SHINYYYYY..."

As Olórin held Glamdring up, Mandos's Maiar collected the troublemakers and took them away for treatment and instruction.

"Foehammer indeed," Olórin chuckled.

Finally only the Simultaneously Greatest and Worst Noldo Ever remained. Olórin's words snapped him out of his trance.

"Release me!" he demanded, desperately trying to tear his eyes from Glamdring's shiny blade.

"Oh, no, I think I like you just where you are," Olórin said smugly, reveling in having the Elf directly and indirectly responsible for the pain of so many throughout three Ages- his own included- under his thrall. "Perhaps I will make you sing "Gil-galad is an Elvenking" in front of the entire Halls of Mandos first. Silivren, could I see the tapestries? I'm doing a... research project and need to calculate passage of time."

Silivren's eyebrows rose quizzically but she nodded.

"I can help you with the calculations!" Fëanor said desperately.

Olórin's heart softened a little. He looked so... pitiful. "And you must apologize to Dior, Fingolfin, and Olwë."

"Olwë had nothing to do with it!"

"Not with _this _dispute."

"I am not apologizing to Olwë for the Kinslaying at Alqualondë!"

Olórin waved his sword and the Noldo lunged after it, impaling his fëa on it.

"Fine!" Fëanor spit out.

Olórin, smiling, sheathed Glamdring and turned to look smugly at the astonished Silivren.

"Shiny things are very powerful," he said.


End file.
